


The Star of El Abismo

by MoanDiary



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, BAMF Chloe Decker, F/M, Lucifer is a fussy bitch, Western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22060063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary
Summary: U.S. Marshal Chloe Decker is used to folks looking at her sideways, used to being underestimated and disregarded, used to the jeers and disdain of the fugitives she brings to justice. But Lucifer Morningstar, the mysteriously wealthy proprietor of La Luz Saloon and an all-around pain in her ass is like nothing she's encountered before. Which wouldn't be a problem if she didn't desperately need his help to track down a dangerous outlaw deep in the wilds of California.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 53
Kudos: 159
Collections: Filii Hircus: WIP It Good





	1. Chapter 1

  
  


El Abismo, California was small but couldn’t rightly be described as sleepy. It bustled with activity at every hour of the day. Commerce, both savory and unsavory, thrived in its muddy thoroughfare. Drunken revelers staggered in and out of saloon doors regardless of the time of day. Music was never in short supply, despite its largely dubious quality. Whores and courtesans called out from balconies and porches, enticing customers into their arms. Salesmen hawked picks and shovels and pans, boots and hats, tents, horses, leather goods, food, and every kind of snake oil curative under the sun. Wagons trundled in and out at a steady clip. Near the general store, the coffin maker did a brisk business providing for the victims of all manner of accident, violence, or disease.

The town had sprung into existence seemingly overnight after a whisper and a rumor of the existence of gold in the hills surrounding the area, gold that twinkled in flakes in the dark silt of the riverbed. Gold that spoke of untold wealth beneath the earth, just waiting for the right man to find it.

U.S. Marshal Decker was not that man. In fact, Marshal Decker was no man at all. Most folks found that strange, given her profession, but those who took it upon themselves to voice their opinions were soon silenced. If they were smart, by their own better judgment. If they weren’t, by Chloe Decker’s own hand. Very few made that mistake twice.

She was saddle-sore and road-weary when she finally slid off her piebald mare outside of the lopsided shack that passed for a sheriff’s office and, given her ample experience arriving in new towns and introducing herself to the local law enforcement, already knew she was in no mood for the conversation to come.

The door banged closed behind her and the noise startled the man reclining with his boots up on the desk and a hat tipped down over his eyes to block the late afternoon sun out of what looked to be a deep sleep.

“Wha—” he muttered, blearily cracking open pale eyes. He was middle-aged, handsome in a boyish way. His brow furrowed as he looked her up and down. She saw the moment when he realized she was a woman. He kicked his legs off his desk and staggered to his feet, blushing and confused. She knew she was beautiful, for better or for worse. Sometimes she thought it made the incongruity of her trousers and her badge easier for backwater yokels like this to swallow and sometimes she thought it made it much, much harder.

“You—uh—hello, Miss. Ma’am. Can I help you?” he stammered, whisking his hat off and clutching it to his chest.

“United States Marshal Chloe Decker,” she said, extending a hand. He took it hesitantly.

“Sheriff Dan Espinoza, how may I be of service?” She could see his unease navigating a course between deeply ingrained rules of politeness and law enforcement protocol. This whole rigamarole was very familiar to her by now.

“I’m tracking a fugitive named Marcus Pierce,” she said, digging around in her coat pocket and pulling out a worn wanted poster. “Escaped from custody outside Carson City. I’ve been tracking him across the Sierras and I have reason to believe he may have been headed here.”

Sheriff Espinoza took the poster from her and lowered his head to examine it, but not before she thought she saw a flicker of recognition pass across his face.

“Know him?” she asked, watching him closely.

“No,” he replied, a bit too quickly. “I mean, I know _of_ him. The Sinnerman Gang is notorious in these parts. But I don’t recognize him.”

She hummed contemplatively, taking the poster back, carefully folding it back up, and tucking it into her pocket. She let the silence hang for a few moments longer than comfortable. Espinoza squirmed.

“I’m new in town,” he finally blurted. “I was just a deputy back in Mariposa. And I’ve only been here three weeks. Answered an advertisement in the paper. I’m sure there’s someone else here in town who will know more. Have you been to La Luz Saloon yet?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “This was my first stop.”

“The owner there—he’s a crooked bastard but he knows everything that goes on in this town. Morningstar is his name.”

Morningstar...that rang a bell somewhere in her memory but for the moment she couldn’t manage to put her finger on where she knew it from. She tipped her hat to him and gave him one final critical look. “Much obliged for the help, Sheriff.”

* * *

A cursory glance down the thoroughfare revealed the location of La Luz Saloon. It was one of the few two-story buildings in the town. A bold painted sign with gold lettering on a black field above the top floor announced its name more prominently than any other on the street.

But first things first. Chloe had been riding for weeks in pursuit of Pierce with nary a chance to grab a full night’s sleep, much less one in a bed or under a roof. And she certainly could do with a bath. She made a beeline for the comparatively rough-hewn and modest hotel opposite La Luz. 

The sweaty concierge at the hotel’s front desk seemed certain there were no free rooms to let to an unaccompanied woman dressed as a man until she casually pulled back her coat to reveal her badge and revolver. Then suddenly a room became available, as they often did.

She had a bath drawn and availed herself of it with pleasure before dressing again in a fresh change of clothes, sending her sweaty and dust-caked shirt and trousers off to be laundered. She watched herself in her room’s small, tarnished mirror as she braided her damp hair and pinned it up into a tight bun. She looked tired. Older. She’d been feeling older recently, too, her face finally beginning to show the marks of age in the fine web of wrinkles around her eyes and the well-creased frown lines in her cheeks. Maybe it was just this assignment. The things Pierce had done, the things he was likely to do again...well, needless to say, he had to be apprehended.

She brushed what dust she could off her hat before placing it carefully on her head, donning her coat, and sweeping back out into the street. Night had fallen in the interim, but light and noise spilled from the windows and doorway of La Luz across the street. A constant parade of people streamed in and out of the building. The ones on the way out seemed a good deal merrier and a great deal lighter of pocket.

When Chloe pushed her way through the swinging doors and paused on the other side, hardly a patron so much as batted an eyelash, which was a testament to how much everyone was enjoying themselves. Historically, her incongruous appearance had a tendency to bring activity in frontier saloons to a sudden halt. 

Men were clustered around tables, drinking or playing poker as beautiful women in revealing dresses leaned over their shoulders or sat on their laps, plying them with liquor and cheering them on. The bar was lined with a group of miners loudly recounting tales of the day’s failures and successes. A staircase in the center of the room led to the second floor, which patrons and employees ascended in pairs, disappearing into the numerous rooms lining the balcony that wrapped around the large central room. At the far side of the saloon, couples spun rapidly on a small dance floor, hooting and clapping in time to the music being played by a man sitting at the upright piano against the far wall with two women squeezed onto the bench on either side of him.

Chloe made her way to the glossy, polished wooden bar. Behind it, a beautiful woman with dark hair in a scandalously low-cut black dress eyed her sharply while wiping a glass with a rag.

“What’ll you have...” Her eyes flicked over Chloe’s form appraisingly, seeming to take in all of her in an instant. “...Marshal?”

“I’m looking for a Mr. Morningstar.”

The woman smirked. “Ordering off the menu? I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

Chloe’s brow furrowed. “I need to speak with him.”

“About what?”

“I was told he could give me some information about a fugitive I’m tracking.”

The song coming from the piano came to a triumphant, melodramatic conclusion, and the bartender’s response was briefly drowned out by cheers and applause.

“Come again?” Chloe leaned in to hear better over the shouting and chatter of the crowd.

The woman’s eyes flickered to the left and over Chloe’s shoulder. She turned and found the man who’d been playing the piano standing immediately behind her, closer than propriety would dictate. He was tall, handsome, and well-groomed—black hair carefully styled and facial hair neatly trimmed, elegantly dressed in a black jacket and emerald green waistcoat punctuated by a gold pocket watch chain and a patterned silk necktie, a get-up clearly more expensive than anything anyone else in this town wore. A consummate dandy amidst a crowd of rough-and-tumble, unwashed frontiersmen. His necktie was ever-so-slightly loosened and his collar gaped just a bit, a state of mild dishevelment that suggested debauchery rather than slovenliness. He stood beside her with his hands in his pockets and his head cocked to one side as, regarding her with a bemused smile.

“Mr. Morningstar, I presume?” Chloe said after a long moment spent sizing each other up.

“Lucifer Morningstar, owner and proprietor of La Luz.” he replied in a smooth English accent, offering his hand. She took it, and he swiftly bowed over it, bringing her hand to his lips and brushing them ever-so-faintly across her knuckles, lingering there longer than was strictly appropriate. She blushed and pulled her hand free as soon as he straightened. But he didn’t blink at her sex or her clothing, so she she decided she wouldn’t blink at his ridiculous name.

“U.S. Marshal Chloe Decker,” she replied stiffly.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance. What brings a fascinating specimen such as yourself to my fine establishment, Marshal Decker?” He gave a shark smile, revealing a row of straight, white teeth. “Business? Pleasure? Business with a side of pleasure? I do hope pleasure is involved.” He raised his eyebrows and gave her a shameless once-over. “We haven’t met before, have we? You look remarkably familiar.”

“‘Fraid not,” she replied, unable to repress a sardonic smile. He was certainly a loquacious one. “I’m looking for Marcus Pierce. He escaped the law in Nevada and fled this way. I’ve heard his gang has a hideout in the wilderness around these parts and that you might be able to tell me more about that.”

The smile slowly faded from Morningstar’s face as she spoke. He turned away from her and gestured to the woman behind the bar. She poured him a glass of whiskey, and he tilted his head back to down the entire thing in one go.

“Might we continue this conversation in private, Marshal? I serve all kinds here, including those who might be...adversarial to your aims.”

“By all means,” she replied, resting one hand casually on her holstered pistol. “Lead the way.”

He put a guiding hand at the small of her back and steered her towards the stairs. There were hoots and wolf whistles from the crowd, and in response Morningstar smirked and blew a kiss towards the patrons as they ascended. He caught her eye roll.

“I must put on a good show, Marshal,” he murmured in her ear.

“One might get the impression that you’re on offer just as much as your girls,” Chloe quipped.

“Oh, but I am! One of the perks of the job, really!” He retorted enthusiastically. “At a premium, of course, but I also provide the most comprehensive services.”

Chloe gaped at him. “You’re a whore, too?”

“That’s a crass term, don’t you think? ‘Courtesan’ is more delicate. Or perhaps ‘evening companion.’”

A single shocked chortle escaped her. She looked at him again, this knowledge casting him in a new light. Imagined pulling his loosened cravat free of his collar, exposing his long, elegant, stubbled neck. Imagined the large, warm hand currently resting against her back sliding lower, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt...

His hand left the small of her back as soon as they were out of sight of the crowd below, and she shook herself, pushing those thoughts aside. He stepped ahead to lead her to a door at the end of the balcony, past several closed ones behind which she could hear the telltale sounds of enthusiastic fornication. He opened it with a flourish and bowed slightly at the waist, ushering her in ahead of him.

The room was dimly-lit compared to the bright glow of the saloon proper. It was instantly apparent that these were the private chambers of the owner himself. A few lamps and a low-burning hearth lit a tastefully decorated, bookshelf-lined study complete with a large desk, an overstuffed velvet settee and two wingback chairs. Large french doors opened onto a balcony commanding a view of the street below. At the end of the room an open doorway led to a smaller room dominated by a large, luxurious-looking bed. She compared it mentally to the small, lumpy mattress she knew was waiting for her back in her hotel room and sighed.

“Care to take it for a spin, Marshal? I could give you my law enforcement discount, of course,” Morningstar said slyly, following her gaze.

“I’ll pass,” she replied, deadpan.

“My loss, I’m afraid,” he sighed, gesturing to one of the wingback chairs by the fire. She sat in it, and he sank gracefully into the one opposite, crossing his legs and picking an invisible piece of lint from his knee. “Now, how can I help you?”

“Marcus Pierce, alias Mark Cain” she began, fishing the wanted poster out of her coat again and passing it to him. He examined it carefully as she continued. “He’s wanted for murder, extortion, robbery, and numerous other offences, the most recent of which is the killing of two sheriff’s deputies during his escape from a prison transport outside Carson City two weeks ago. I was hot on his trail all the way through the mountains, but he disappeared into thin air a day outside of town. This is his gang’s turf, so I assume he must have gone to ground nearby.”

He folded the wanted poster again with an expression like he had an unpleasant taste in his mouth and handed it back to her. “I do know something about the Sinnerman Gang’s nearby hideouts,” he began. “But I think first I’d like to hear what it is exactly that you plan to do.”

Chloe leaned back in her chair, annoyed. “Bring him to justice.”

Morningstar raised his eyebrows skeptically and gave her a polite smile. “You believe you can singlehandedly recapture one of the most brutal outlaws west of the Rockies while he’s in the bosom of his gang, do you?”

“Recapture or kill,” she replied with an equally polite smile, tapping the cool stock of her revolver where it rested against her thigh.

Morningstar cocked his head at her, regarding her carefully, then abruptly his puzzled expression split into a genuine grin. “Do you know, Marshal Decker, I believe you just might.”

“What can you tell me, then?”

“The Sinnerman Gang has a number of hideouts in the area, all well-hidden and each surrounded by all manner of nasty traps. Many an enterprising bounty hunter has set out from here in pursuit of them and none have returned. Pierce could be in any one of them.”

“Could you mark them on a map?” Chloe asked, wishing she’d brought her saddlebag and the detailed map of the region it contained.

“No, but I can arrange a guide for you. Someone who knows the area very well.” He tapped one finger on his knee contemplatively.

“How soon?” she pressed, leaning forward in her chair. “The longer I wait, the more opportunity he has to slip away.”

Morningstar beamed, seemingly delighted by her eagerness. “How does tomorrow at sunup outside of the livery stable suit you?”

“Suits me just fine,” she replied, blood rising at the thought of resuming the chase. “What can I pay you for your help, Mr. Morningstar?”

“Ah, I require no compensation for pointing you in the right direction, Marshal. Having bloodthirsty outlaws running amok in the hills is bad for business, and they’ll be much worse with Pierce back in charge. The guide, however, will likely ask for something in exchange for his services.”

She got to her feet and he hurried to follow suit. “Then I will take my leave.” She extended her hand again. “Much obliged for the help.”

“My pleasure,” he replied, shaking it.

* * *

She would have thought that her first night under a roof and in a warm bed in several weeks would be an easy one, but she found herself lying awake hours after she retired, listening to the muted, lingering sounds of carousing at La Luz across the street. That Morningstar was an odd bird, to be sure, but she trusted him for some reason. She had a talent for sniffing out lies and there was nothing deceptive in his manner.

No, it was more that she found him...intriguing. He was clearly a man of significant wealth, and even as the canniest businessman in a community comprised of nothing but the luckiest miners it would be difficult to accumulate that much money. For some reason, this cultured, independently wealthy man had chosen to settle here. And beyond that, had chosen to prostitute himself as well, apparently just for the fun of it. Perplexing indeed.

She shifted restlessly, trying to find a position in which she could avoid a sprung bedspring poking her in the side. Eventually she decided it was no use and threw off the covers, getting to her feet and wandering aimlessly over to the window. She drew back the thin muslin curtain and gazed down into the street below. A few drunks straggled out of the door of the saloon, leaning on each other for balance and swaying away down the street. The grim-faced bartender followed shortly after, dousing the lamps outside the entrance and closing the doors before retreating back inside. Then the lights inside the saloon winked out gradually. With the building darkened, Chloe’s attention was drawn to the dim yellow flicker of match being struck and raised to the face of one Lucifer Morningstar, standing on the balcony above the saloon immediately opposite her. He lit a cigarillo and shook the match to extinguish it, face falling once again into darkness, made visible only by the occasional orange glow when he took a drag.

It was hard to tell in the darkness of the moonless night, but she had the distinct impression he was watching her, too.

* * *

Chloe woke in the predawn gloom and washed quickly. She’d fallen asleep eventually sometime after midnight but hadn’t slept well. She hoped she could get a strong cup of coffee downstairs before heading out.

She pestered the same sweaty hotel manager from yesterday into brewing a fresh pot of coffee and selling her some provisions for the road. She drank two scalding-hot cups before slinging her saddlebags over her shoulder and heading out. Inside the hotel stable, her horse greeted her with a sleepy whicker, shifting gently as she cinched her saddle and buckled her packs into place. She led her mount down the street towards the livery at the edge of town.

What she saw waiting for her there stopped her in her tracks.

Lucifer Morningstar leaned casually against the weatherbeaten wall of the livery, dressed like a member of the aristocracy out on a hunting trip in a pair of immaculate knee-high boots with gleaming spurs, an elegant wool coat, and a stylish black hat, holding the reins of a gorgeous and well-groomed Arabian stallion in one hand.

“Marshal!” He called cheerfully. “I was beginning to worry you’d overslept.”

“What’s going on?” she asked. “I thought you were finding a guide for me.”

“Of course, I found you the best guide I know.”

“You?” she scoffed skeptically. “A fop saloon owner and prostitute?”

“I told you, I prefer ‘evening companion,’” he replied, turning to tug the buckles on his horse’s saddle experimentally before stepping into the stirrup and swinging up onto the tall animal’s back.

“Wait,” she said, squinting up at him in the dawn sunlight. “I need some assurance you actually know a damned thing about finding Pierce.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, but raised an arm to indicate a ridge with an exposed rock face on one side in the far distance down the valley. “You see that cliff there? It’s known as Widower’s End due to a local miner who threw himself off of it after his wife was taken off by consumption a decade or so ago. Just beneath it is the entrance to a cave system containing one of the Sinnerman Gang’s hideouts. There’s a rock fall trap there that’s crushed at least five men in the past two years.”

Her resolve wavered a bit. But she stayed stubbornly rooted to the ground beside her horse.

“Come on, Marshal,” he wheedled. “No one knows these parts like I do, much less the gang’s hideouts. You’ll never make it back to this town alive without me.”

“And what do you want as payment?” she asked. “Yesterday you said the guide would ask for something.”

“Well remembered.” He smiled and leaned closer to her over his saddle horn. “In exchange for my help, in addition to the gift of removing a man who has proven time and again to be a nuisance to me, I’d like to find out how a beautiful woman such as yourself became a United States Marshal. If you’d agree to tell me that story, I’ll consider us even.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. It wasn’t much to ask, but she had the distinct impression she was making a decision she’d soon regret. “It’s a deal.”

Morningstar gave her that familiar shark-like grin and extended a hand. “Care to shake on it?”


	2. Chapter 2

El Abismo was just beginning to stir as they rode out of town. Grizzled miners squinted at them through their hangovers as they shouldered packs and hefted tools. Shopkeepers arranged the day’s wares in display windows or swept porches. Some of the whores at La Luz were hanging laundry out to dry on the balcony. The saloon doors swung open as they passed, and Morningstar’s dark-eyed bartender stepped out onto the porch, dressed once again in seductive black, her arms crossed.

“I still think this is a stupid idea, Lucifer,” she called.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Maze,” he replied cheerfully. “A little jaunt up into the mountains to deal with Cain and I’ll be back before you even know I’m gone. Just don’t terrorize too many patrons in my absence!”

Instead of replying, the woman simply scowled at Chloe, who wondered if she’d have to watch her back upon their return. The barkeep had an uncanny air of menace that even the most violent criminals would be hard pressed to match.

“Did I do something to offend her?” Chloe wondered aloud once they were a safe distance away.

“Pay her no mind, she’s just overly protective,” Morningstar laughed. “Like a mother hen.”

Chloe thought privately that she’d encountered rattlesnakes more motherly, but held her tongue.

They’d just passed the final building along the main street when there was the bang of a screen door swinging closed behind them and a voice shouting, “Wait!”

Chloe swung her horse around to see Sheriff—what was his name, again?—Espinoza struggling into his coat and bounding down the front steps of the jailhouse, six-shooter strapped to his hip.

“I’m coming with you,” he called, untying his horse from the hitching post and swinging up into the saddle.

“Oh, for the love of—” Morningstar groaned. “We have no need of you, Sheriff Shitheel.”

“I’d say you’re the one not needed for tracking down a fugitive, Morningstar,” Espinoza sniped back. “This is a matter for law enforcement to handle. I’m the one who should be assisting the Marshal.”

“Oh, and I suppose your excellent law enforcement skills are what allowed Delilah’s murderer to slip away in the night?”

Espinoza threw his hands up. “Delilah was a whore who liked laudanum too much. That’s what killed her. Open and shut. You’re a fool to believe otherwise.”

“You couldn’t find a criminal if he had his thumb up your arse, you—”

“Enough,” Chloe cut in. The two men quieted abruptly, heads turning in unison to regard her. “Much obliged for the offer, Sheriff, but I prefer to work alone. Mr. Morningstar has agreed to serve as my guide, and we’ve come to a business arrangement.”

“We struck a deal,” Morningstar clarified, smug. Chloe wondered wrly what it said about her that she’d willingly made a deal with someone who called himself “Lucifer.”

“Marshal,” the Sheriff entreated. “The Sinnerman Gang has upwards of a dozen men. Now, you may be good, but no one’s that good. Don’t you think you should try and even the odds just a little? I may be new to these parts, but I’m a good shot and I’ve seen combat.”

“The war?” she wondered. He seemed too young for it, but…

He shook his head ruefully. “No, against the Apaches. My parents are— _were_ —Mexican, before the annexation.”

Chloe considered for a bit. She almost always regretted working with men; even when they didn’t mock or belittle her skill, they had a remarkable tendency to snatch up credit for any achievement, no matter how little they contributed to it. She’d lost more bounty money and coveted postings to men in her time than would bear recounting...but Espinoza had a point. She might have been able to take Pierce down when he was traveling alone, but he’d be surrounded by his gang now, to a man, ruthless killers.

“All right,” she said eventually.

“Marshal!” Morningstar protested. 

“You’re welcome to stay behind if you want to renege on our deal,” Chloe said sharply, and his mouth snapped shut. “But this is my bounty, and I take the lead,” she continued, leveling her iciest glare at Dan, the one that regularly sent “gentlemen” who took her independence for tarnished virtue running for the hills. Morningstar sneered at Espinoza, and Chloe rolled her eyes, wheeling her mount around and leading her mismatched party up the narrow, winding path into the foothills.

* * *

“I realized where I recognize you from,” Morningstar said abruptly, when the sun had barely cleared the ragged horizon. The birds called to each other lustily from the trees around them, and the morning sunlight sparkled on the last remnants of dew burning off the vegetation. Chloe had just been settling into the comfortable, familiar rhythms of nature, and of course the damned saloon owner had to ruin it. As soon as the path had widened enough for two to ride abreast, he’d spurred that ridiculous, glossy racehorse of his and moved into position beside her, leaving Espinoza trailing behind on his stout Appaloosa.

Chloe sighed. 

“Bouguereau’s _Nymph at the Hot Springs_ ,” he mused, eyes flicking up and down her body shamelessly, not making much of an effort to restrain his grin. “When it first went on exhibition in New York, I must have gone to see it ten times. _Love_ that painting.”

“You’ve seen a nude painting of me,” she deadpanned. “Very exciting.”

“Now, there are nude paintings and there are _nude paintings_. That is one of the latter. Believe me, I’ve seen enough to be able to tell,” he gushed. “And you,” his eyes glimmered, raking down her body once again. “Left quite the impression.”

“I have no difficulty believing you, Mr. Morningstar,” she said coolly.

He gave her a quizzical look, head cocked to one side. “Why don’t I affect you, Marshal?”

“You’re hardly the first man to leer at me over that painting.”

“No, it’s not just that. You’re strangely impervious to my charms.”

“I’m not quite sure I would call them ‘charms.’”

“Perhaps you’re only interested in women? I understand entirely, they are certainly the more appealing sex on average—”

“What I’m interested in is finding a dangerous killer and bringing him to justice,” she snapped.

“So you _do_ like men!”

She sighed and chose not to dignify the comment with a response.

He gave her a triumphant grin, but subsided into an amiable silence, beaming at her proudly now and then. To be honest, she didn’t much mind the mild notoriety the painting lent her anymore. Deep in the territories, it was extremely rare that any had seen the painting itself, or remembered the reproductions of it that were etched for printing in a certain magazine of ill repute and wide distribution. Fewer still could match the ill-tempered lady marshal to the foolish nineteen-year-old daughter of a famous actress who posed for a painting so provocative it occupied gossip columnists on both sides of the Atlantic for months.

“Per our deal, since you’ve learned one of my sordid secrets, I believe I’m entitled to ask where exactly we’re headed,” she said.

“A secret I uncovered on my own hardly counts,” he huffed. “But so be it. Elwood’s Store is a trading post that provisions most of the more remote mining camps and less honest pursuits in the valley. If the Sinnerman Gang is here in any kind of numbers—and I believe they are—they’ll have been there recently. Elwood is as slippery as an eel but he owes me _several_ favors.”

“Elwood is also wanted on several counts of assault,” Espinoza interjected from behind them. Chloe started and turned guiltily to look over her shoulder at him. Morningstar was so comprehensively irritating that she’d almost forgotten the sheriff was there. “Not to mention the fact that he got so drunk in town two weeks ago that he challenged Grandma Turner to a fistfight.”

“Assault is a standard part of the business when you run an outpost this remote,” Morningstar said airily, giving her an oily smile.

“My thanks, but I’m not interested in local disputes,” she said, glancing back at Espinoza. “If you’d like, you can arrest him after I’ve questioned him and take him back into town.”

“No, no, no, that won’t do!” the saloon owner protested. “He and I have a business arrangement.”

“I’m not going back into town,” Espinoza gritted out.

“Then it seems your _helpful_ input is not needed,” Morningstar sneered.

“I think we both know who’s not needed here.”

“I think we do, Sheriff Sh—”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Will you two _please_ shut up? We’re on the hunt, not a leisurely ride in the park. So stop bickering, unless you’d like everyone in the valley to know precisely where we are.” 

The two men both fell silent and she suppressed a smile at the authority they had apparently ceded to her. If only most of the loud-mouthed, reckless cowboys she’d ridden with had been this compliant. The path narrowed so they could only ride single-file as it wound its way up a foothill, making conversation difficult regardless. They crested the ridge and Elwood’s store appeared below them, nestled in a small hollow and surrounded by towering evergreens. It was barely more than a simple log cabin, notable only for a wide front porch and a crudely painted sign. On the porch sat two children in ill-fitting hand-me-down clothes, throwing pebbles at the trunk of a nearby tree. 

Chloe and her companions dismounted and tied their horses to the railing. The children paused their game to regard the three of them curiously. Chloe gave them a tight smile, heart clenching as she regarded the smaller of the two, a girl with huge brown eyes, just like—

“Marshal?” Morningstar’s voice cut through her reverie. She turned to see that both he and Espinoza were standing before the door, waiting for her.

She nodded and took a deep breath, collecting herself before she stepped inside. The gloom of the store’s interior was impenetrable after the blazing morning sun outside, and she paused for a few moments as her eyes adjusted. It wasn’t much, even as far as frontier outposts went. There were shelves along the walls behind the counter and a few tables displaying various jars and items, but the pickings were slim. The only thing that seemed to be in ample supply were animal pelts of various sizes and qualities. Morningstar turned his nose up at those and wandered over to a small display of brightly-colored handkerchiefs in the corner. Like a magpie drawn to shiny baubles, Chloe decided, amused.

She and the sheriff approached the counter, where a balding, red-haired, bearded man was negotiating the price of an intricately-tooled leather satchel with a elderly Native woman.

“—three dollars, and that’s my final offer,” the red-haired man, presumably Elwood, was saying.

“Three and you throw in two cans of kerosine,” the woman countered.

Elwood made a show of reluctantly considering the deal before accepting the satchel and nodding. He fished around in the till for the three dollars and his eyes skipped over Chloe and towards the corner. She followed his gaze and realized he was anxiously tracking Morningstar as the tall dandy examined a bottle of saddle oil, his outfit almost comically extravagant against the rough-hewn and shabby surroundings.

The old woman accepted his money and walked away from the counter to retrieve her jugs of kerosine. Chloe stepped up to the counter, clearing her throat to draw the shopkeeper’s attention away from Morningstar.

“Uh, yes. What can I do you for, ma’am?” he asked.

Chloe flashed her badge. “Mr. Elwood, I’m U.S. Marshal Chloe Decker. I was hoping you could give me some information on a fugitive who is thought to be hiding out around these parts. Marcus Pierce.” She moved to pull out the wanted poster, but the man recoiled as if he’d been struck and she figured it wasn’t necessary. “I take it you know of him.”

“I ain’t seen Pierce in an age. Heard he and his gang set out for Nevada last year. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of ‘em since,” he replied, far too quickly. His eyes darted towards Lucifer again.

“You mean to tell me you haven’t traded with anyone in his gang since? They’ve been back in the valley for at least six months,” Espinoza interjected hotly.

Elwood bristled. “Didn’t catch your name, fella.”

“Dan Espinoza, new sheriff of El Abismo.”

“Well, this ain’t El Abismo. This ain’t no town at all, and we ain’t got no sheriff, neither.”

“Come now, John,” came Morningstar’s voice from across the room, cold and sharp as a razor. “That’s no way to treat my compatriots. I’m certain you have something more helpful than that to tell us.”

Elwood paled. “You’re on this fool’s errand, too, Mr. Morningstar?”

“I am.” Lucifer set down the bottle he was examining and stalked over to them, suddenly seeming even taller than he already was. He loomed over the shopkeeper, staring him down. Elwood took on the aspect of a small prey animal frozen under the gaze of a predator.

“When last we spoke, I believe our agreement was that you would not trade with Cain or his gang.”

Elwood’s mouth opened and closed several times. “I-I...you don’t know what it’s like when they all come in here, Mr. Morningstar. I’m just one man.”

Lucifer patted him on the cheek sympathetically. “I know, Johnny. I know. Which is why you’ll make up for it by telling this lovely lady what you know.”

“I-I honestly don’t...don’t know....”

“Come now,” Morningstar leaned even closer, peering into the man’s eyes. “What do you desire?”

Something curious happened. Elwood’s shifting eyes stilled, locked with the taller man’s, and his face went slack, as if enthralled. Words spilled from him in an uneven rush. “I want to keep my end of the deal with you, but I’d also like to keep my head. Cain sh-showed me one. Of someone who crossed him.”

“He showed you a _head?_ ” Espinoza asked, disgusted. 

Elwood nodded, looking slightly green. “‘Tweren’t a fresh one, neither.”

“So you’re more afraid of him than you are of me, is that it?” Morningstar’s voice lowered to a dangerous register. Chloe cast him a sidelong glance. What kind of saloon owner-cum-prostitute _was_ he?

Elwood leaned back, nodding apologetically, forehead slicked with a sheen of nervous sweat.

Lucifer followed him, leaning over the counter. “What about now?” he growled.

The shopkeeper yelped and threw himself backwards against the shelving behind him, rattling jars and sending a carefully-stacked tower of cans of pomade tumbling to the floor.

“Hey!” Dan shouted, just as Chloe grabbed Morningstar by the shoulder and spun him around to face her, trying to figure out what he’d done to Elwood. But his hands were resting casually in his pockets.

“What are you doing?”

He blinked his big, dark eyes at her innocently. “Just having a friendly conversation with my good friend Mr. Elwood, Marshal.”

Elwood, white as a ghost, stared at him with wide eyes, still pressed against the shelves.

“Go wait for us outside,” she instructed.

“But Marshal—”

“Now.”

Lucifer huffed and stomped out, spurs jingling.

Elwood relaxed marginally when the door shut behind him, but still looked like someone had trodden on his grave, repeatedly.

“Mr. Elwood?” His eyes darted to her like he’d forgotten she was there.

“I’ll tell you anything,” he babbled. “Whatever you need.”

Chloe’s brows furrowed. What in the hell had Morningstar done to make him so suddenly compliant? She exchanged a glance with Espinoza but he simply shrugged. She decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. “When did you last see Pierce?”

“Not three days ago. Him and Jim Pepper and one of the newer boys. Didn’t catch his name. Bought provisions and ammunition.”

“Did they say where they were hiding out?”

Elwood shook his head profusely. “But—”

“But what?”

“They were jokin’ ‘bout the caves being damp. Jim Pepper was teasing the younger one about growing moss on his balls. There ain’t no caves near here but the ones by Red Falls.”

“Anything else?”

His wide, frightened eyes darted towards the door. “You’ll...you’ll tell him I helped you, right? That I was as helpful as could be?”

Chloe’s brow furrowed. “Pierce?”

“No, _Lucifer_ ,” he breathed.

She laughed, perplexed. “Sure.”

“And—and—” He bent suddenly and rooted around beneath the counter. “Give him this. From me. Free of charge.” He pressed a brick of something wrapped in brown paper into her hands.

She turned to leave and found herself face-to-face with the old woman, two jugs of kerosine in her arms. She gave Chloe a solemn look. “You ride with the devil, Marshal,” she intoned softly. “Keep both eyes open.”

* * *

Chloe and the sheriff emerged into the midday sunshine to find Lucifer leaning against the railing and smoking at the end of the porch, as far from the two children as he could be. He turned when he heard them come out, an eager smile on his face.

“Well? Learn anything interesting?”

“Apparently the gang is holed up in a cave. Elwood thinks it’s near somewhere called Red Falls.”

Morningstar grinned. “I know it well. Not more than two days’ ride from here.”

“‘Cave’ might mean an abandoned mine, too. There are plenty of those nearby,” Espinoza added.

“Ah, but not many suitable for housing a dozen murderous cretins,” Lucifer added. “Your map, please, Marshal?” Chloe fished it out of her pocket and handed it to him. He spread it out on the railing, examining it carefully. “Dreadfully inaccurate,” he groused. “To my mind there are only two possibilities. Cedar Holler and the old silver mine at Hermit’s Bluff.” He indicated the locations with a well-manicured finger.

“Perfect,” Chloe said, feeling her blood rise at the prospect of catching the trail again, folding the map and pocketing it. “Oh, and by the way, this is for you.” She handed Lucifer the package Elwood gave her, feeling a bit like she was rewarding a dog for performing a trick.

“Ooh, a gift for me?” Lucifer unfolded the paper at the end and peered inside, grinning. “Opium! Delightful.” He hefted it a bit, judging the weight. “And just enough to last the length of this little adventure.”

Chloe gaped at his audacity. “You are not smoking _opium_ while we hunt a killer.”

He looked at her as if she’d said something idiotic. “Certainly not, I don’t have any of the equipment. No, I’ll probably just eat it. Not a pleasant flavor, but the high is well worth—”

She snatched the package back out of his hands, prompting a noise of protest. “It’s not my job to judge people’s vices, but I won’t let you put my life at risk because you feel the need to indulge them.”

“I’m not putting anything at risk, Marshal. All it does is take the edge off!”

She rolled her eyes and stomped down the porch steps to her horse, stuffing the package into her saddlebag. “I’ll give this to you once we’re back in El Abismo with Pierce dead or in custody.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, following her and jamming his hat on his head before mounting his horse. Chloe did the same, but then caught sight of the Sheriff’s horse and realized he was nowhere in sight. 

She turned to Morningstar. “Where did Espinoza go?”

He looked around and shrugged, unconcerned, adjusting his cuffs. “He was here a moment ago.”

There was a brief rustling and Dan appeared from the brush at the edge of the clearing, fastening the front of his pants. “Just relieving myself,” he offered with a smile.

Chloe rolled her eyes. They had a _long_ road ahead of them.

* * *

They decided to set out for Hermit’s Bluff first, as it was closest. They headed southwest, descending back into the valley for a few hours before the trail climbed into the mountains again. By the time they found a spot to make camp for the night, the air had a crisp chill to it that smelled of cedar and snowmelt.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Espinoza bit out as he dropped an armful of firewood beside Lucifer, who was reclining languidly against a tree trunk, legs crossed at the ankle.

“Oh, it’s no bother at all, Sheriff Shitheel,” he replied with a patronizing smile.

Chloe snorted from where she was tending the horses.

“Besides,” Morningstar continued. “I’m on dinner duty, aren’t I, Marshal?”

“You are, so I’d recommend you get the fire started quicklike.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a little salute and bent over the kindling. With startling speed, small flames crackled up under his hands.

“You’ve done this before,” she observed, more than a little surprised that this effete fop had any practical skills.

“Oh yes, I’ve been making little fires from nothing since—well—since the beginning of time, you might say.”

He built up the fire then started dressing the two plump rabbits he’d managed to catch earlier in the day ( _“They hopped right into my arms, Marshal! Suicidal bunnies, can you imagine?”_ ) while recounting amusing stories about some of the patrons of his saloon.

Chloe even caught Espinoza snorting in laughter as Morningstar acted out the voice and mannerisms of the large, overbearing mother of a young man in town. He’d thought to lose his virginity to one of the whores at La Luz, and the woman had come to retrieve him.

“...and out she dragged him by the ear! Kicking, screaming, and naked as the day he was born! And still in an amorous condition, if you catch my drift.”

Chloe struggled to catch her breath, wiping tears of laughter out of her eyes. “And did he ever make it back?”

Lucifer paused turning the rabbits on a spit for a moment and tapped his chin contemplatively. “I can’t recall. But I do remember that not many years later, she married him off to some poor, unwitting young lady. Hopefully he at least learned something of use before their wedding night.”

Chloe sobered a little, knowing all too well what it was like to be on the other end of an ill-advised and youthful marriage. She regarded the strange saloon owner’s elegant profile in the flickering firelight.

“Have you ever been married?” she asked.

“Oh, goodness, no!” he scoffed. “It’d be unfair of me to deprive womankind by dedicating all my attentions to just one. Not to mention all the men!”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. You?” She looked to Espinoza.

He shook his head and looked down, scuffing a boot in the dust. “Travel around too much. But God knows I’ve thought about it.”

“What does it matter what he knows,” Morningstar grumbled.

“What?”

“My father. Might know everything but doesn’t care a lick about any of it.”

“Your father?”

“God, of course.”

She stared at him blankly. Was he really saying...

“Because I’m the Devil,” he elaborated.

Espinoza laughed loudly. “You know, I thought you were mad already, man,” he drawled. “But this takes the cake.”

“Mad!” Morningstar scoffed. “I most certainly am not!”

Chloe sighed. How did she get herself tangled up with such an odd bird? “You can call yourself Jesus Christ, for all I care, Mr. Morningstar.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “You can call me Lucifer, if you like.”

“All right. Lucifer,” she said, trying the name out. It had a pleasant feel to it. He gave her a small, uncharacteristically timid smile.

“What can I call you?” Dan asked sardonically.

“I do not care one way or the other, Sheriff Shitheel,” he replied, removing one of the rabbits from the fire to prod it and test its doneness.

“You’re a horse’s ass,” the sheriff grumbled, taking a bite of some hardtack.

Lucifer handed the first rabbit to Chloe with a wide smile, which she found herself mirroring easily. Easier than she’d smiled for what felt like years.

The rabbit was delicious.


End file.
